


what it means to crush

by granteares



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hockey fights? Hockey fights, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homophobic Slurs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Underage Drinking, another fic in which I hate on the Arizona Coyotes sorry, in America at least technically not for like anyone else, lots of hockey terminology, recreational alcohol use, references to Jack's overdose, various references to Real Hockey sprinkled throughout
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-01 10:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/granteares/pseuds/granteares
Summary: The only reason Kent agreed to this ridiculous scheme is because he's been in love with Alexei for a good year and can never say "no" to him. Not when he looks at him like Kent is actually a good person who makes him happy.





	1. to my favorite scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it, guys!! I expanded ["perfect illusion"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9634769)!!! I'll add tags as chapters are posted, but I think that should have us covered for now. (And yeah, I literally just copied the summary from "PI" for this one, oops. /Uncreative.)
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by [@paolorq](http://paolarq.tumblr.com/) and my wonderful friend [@justlikelivinginparadise](https://justlikelivinginparadise.tumblr.com/) so major thanks to both of them! Any remaining boo-boos are my own.
> 
> FYI: Jeff Troy and Swoops are the same person!!
> 
> Enjoy!!

Jack had talked to him about it, of course.

Jack had warned him that there could be implications against Kent if Jack came out of the closet; that there might be backlash that affected Kent.

Kent had known he wasn’t wrong, of course.

There had always been _rumors_ . Ever since their days in Juniors, Kent had been acutely aware of the rumors and it had only made him more careful, to hold his relationship with Jack all the closer to his heart in an attempt to keep it safe and secure. More than once on his worst drunken nights right after their— _his_ — draft he had stumbled across the fanfiction and dirty gossip sites. So he knew what people thought, what they suspected, how they let their minds wander. Sometimes he wished he didn’t. Other times he told himself it was probably better to know and not be caught off-guard. He hated being caught off-guard, without having had the chance to make sure his defenses were intact.

At the end of the day, though, Kent couldn’t think of a good excuse to tell Jack ‘ _no, you need to stay in the closet’_ if coming out was what Jack wanted— maybe needed— to do. That would have been far too selfish, and Kent wasn’t like that, not really, no matter how much the media insisted on turning him into an egotistical fuckboy (which, okay, was mostly his fault for pretending to be that way during the beginning years of his NHL career). They may have been on civil terms now, to the point that Kent thought he could safely consider Jack his friend again, but Kent had learned by now that Jack didn’t owe him shit anymore. They had made their apologies: that was all they had owed to each other.

Kent knew about Eric Bittle— had realized it was the small blonde guy Kent had taken a selfie with at that epic disaster of an EpiKegster in 2014— and he knew Jack was in love with Eric Bittle. He watched Jack’s face with some form of jealousy wiggling in his gut any time he was with the man and ‘Bitty’ was brought up— Jack became all heart eyes and dopey smile. At first Kent had thought it was the pang of Jack moving on that caused the jealousy, but after a while he had realized it was just jealousy over not having anyone to talk about him in that way.

Which had actually come as a bit more of a shock, because Kent had sworn off relationships, and love, so long ago.

Well, he had tried to swear off of love, but that was _hard_.

Jack, though… Jack wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to Bitty in a way that he had never done when it came to Kent.

So Kent had weighed the pros and cons when Jack had asked him about coming out, and he hadn’t seemed offended when Kent had said he needed to think about it. And he had done just that: thinking it through in a way that reckless Kent Parson didn’t often do.

On the one hand, Kent could wind up being outed. Kent had spent a long time guarding his sexual orientation from the world and had taken painstaking, heart-breaking measures to keep it guarded. To risk that… It was scary. Actually, ‘scary’ was a bit of an understatement in terms of terror.

On the other hand, he was twenty-eight and so tired of hiding. He would be lying if he said that coming out hadn’t been some small thought in the back of his mind for a while now; a small thought growing gradually louder from the second Jack had started talking to Kent about coming out himself a few months ago, just an inkling idea in Jack’s mind then, poised half-seriously to one of the small handful of people that knew Jack wasn’t straight.

He would be a jackass if he kept Jack and Bitty in the closet. Just thinking about it gave him a pang of guilt. If they wanted to be openly in love, Kent couldn’t blame them. Maybe it would make the rumors and speculation against Kent worse, maybe it wouldn’t. But it was the least he could do for Jack— and for Bitty, who he still barely knew; who was still slowly warming up to Kent, he thought, and Kent couldn’t even blame him for that. He wouldn’t blame Bitty if he never liked Kent, honestly, but he was getting more and more genuine smiles from the smaller blonde every time they crossed paths.

So Kent had told Jack that if he was ready to come out, Kent wouldn’t stop him. Kent would have his back, the way he had used to in the Q and the way he was trying to again now.

Jack had thanked him, and by some (non-) coincidence, his favorite flavor of pie, obviously homemade, had been express-delivered to his condo two days later.

That had been two months ago and with preseason about to begin, he hadn’t talked to Jack much since. There were rookies to find places for, to show around, to make comfortable; he had even agreed to house one himself for the indefinite future— not the first time he had, and the main reason he had made sure to get a large condo with multiple bedrooms when he had realized he wasn’t leaving Las Vegas any time soon. There were meetings with management, meetings with the team. There was increased time at the gym to get back in shape from what little Kent had allowed himself to slack off over the summer. There was catching up with the rest of the Aces as they slowly trickled back into Las Vegas from their summer homes.

In retrospect, maybe, he should have made more effort to keep in touch with Jack.

It probably would have been better than Swoops texting him _Dude, fucking turn on ESPN right now_ at eight in the morning on a Tuesday when he was trying to sleep in.

Kent shot a sarcastic text back, complaining about Jeff waking him up, then locked his phone again and closed his eyes. Maybe he could get back to sleep… But then his phone buzzed insistently again, because Swoops just had to be a fucking serial texter.

   **Swoops**  
     _No dude, for real_  
     _Turn on your TV_  
     _I’m serious_  
     _You need to see this_  
     _Tell me you have it on please_  
       _(8:02 A.M.)_

Well, he was awake, so he might as well get Swoops off his back, right? He pushed himself out of bed, grumbling about jackass best friends who couldn’t respect a man’s desire to sleep in, and padded downstairs to his living room, clicking the T.V. on. In a short moment, he had switched it from the Food Network (reruns of Cupcake Wars had been on, okay?) over to ESPN.

“Fuck,” he cursed— maybe a little too loud: it echoed through the condo that was otherwise silent, outside of the quiet hum of the the central air conditioning blowing through the vents.

He fell back on his couch: a big, plush thing he had bought because it was perfect to nap on.

His phone buzzed in his hand again.

   **Swoops  
**      _Did you see????_  
       _(8:15 A.M.)_

Kent sighed, unlocked his phone and texted back:

     _yeah, i see_  
       _(8:15 A.M.)_

   **Swoops**  
     _Did you know?_  
       _(8:16 A.M.)_

Kent let out a breathless laugh and took a moment to compose himself.

     _about what, exactly?_  
       _(8:18 A.M.)_

   **Swoops**  
     _IDK- any of it?_  
       _(8:18 A.M.)_

Kent looked back at the T.V. screen. ESPN was playing an interview with one ‘Georgia Martin: Providence Falconers’ General Manager’. Below that, in all caps, the ticker marqueed through the announcement:

**_Providence Falconers’ Alternate Captain Jack Zimmermann, Son of “Bad” Bob Zimmermann, Comes Out: First Gay Player in NHL_ **

The first thing that caught his eye was that they had written ‘gay’, and it made him laugh breathlessly again, imagining Jack’s annoyance that— _of course_ — they would ignore the term ‘bisexual’. Kent knew too-well that there was no way Jack wouldn’t have come out as anything but what he actually was, what he actually called himself.

He unlocked his phone once more and went back to his conversation with Jeff to give his question an answer.

     _yeah i knew about it_  
     _all of it_  
     _just not that he was doing it last night..._  
       _(8:20 A.M.)_

There was no point hiding it from Swoops. The guy was too deeply involved in Kent’s personal life after nearly ten years on the same team. Jeff was one of the people who knew Kent was gay, and Kent had even confided a small amount of his history with Jack to him, because if there was anyone Kent could trust with his deepest and most important secrets, it was Jeff.

“Fuck,” Kent repeated, more quietly, covering his face with his hand and closing his eyes. It was way too early for this.

“Kent? I heard you yell. You oka— _Whoa_ …”

Scupp, the rookie he was housing, had shuffled into the living room, and Kent jumped at the sudden voice— he had almost forgotten he wasn’t living alone right now. The kid rounded the couch, and took a seat near Kent in front of the T.V. Kent watched him stare, wide-eyed.

“Jack Zimmermann is gay?” he said, voice neutral, after a moment.

“Bi,” Kent corrected, instinctually.

“Oh…” Scupp looked over at him. “Aren’t you friends with him?”

Kent nodded his head. “Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, sure he was rocking some fine bed-head right now and therefore not caring if he made it worse. “I’m— I should probably call him,” he forced out, not sure if he actually wanted to call Jack right now even though it was nearing noon on the east coast. He wasn’t awake enough to deal with Scupp, whose short comments were still carefully neutral, making Kent’s nerves prickle. He just needed some time to process, feeling disoriented and caught off-guard. He pushed himself up from the couch before Scupp could say anything else, and retreated back to his bedroom.

Kit was curled up on one of his pillows, and lifted her head up when he shut the door behind him, ears pointed slightly back.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to be awake either,” Kent mumbled, before crawling into bed, grateful when Kit let him curl around her.

Kent’s phone buzzed again in his pocket, and he shifted just enough to pull it out. It was Swoops again:

     _You ok man? Call if you need to_  
       _(8:53 A.M.)_

And, well, Kent had learned to trust Jeff, and confide in him— to an extent: more than he had ever confided in anyone, besides Jack during their time in the Q. He knew Jeff actually cared, and the more that he told the man, the easier it had become to _keep_ telling him things. So. Why not? He clicked the call button in Jeff’s contact and it barely got through two rings before the other greeted him with a “Hey.” It was conversational, as if Jeff didn’t care if Kent actually wanted to talk feelings or just wanted to use him as a distraction; it was another thing that made confiding in his alternate captain easier, the lack of pressure to do so.

“Swoops,” Kent replied. “Thanks for waking me up for this shit.” It came out, thankfully, as he’d wanted it to: a light-hearted chirp.

Jeff laughed. “Sorry, Cap— I know you need your beauty sleep.”

“Fuck yeah. It takes a lot of work to look this good, dude. I know your goblin-ass self can’t comprehend, though, so it’s okay.”

“I’m fucking sexy, bro, admit it.”

Now Kent laughed. “Yeah,” he conceded, “Fine. I’m not blind.”

“Sweet victory.” Jeff sounded relieved. Then he quieted down, and Kent was waiting for the prompting about the actual reason they were on the phone right now. It took a moment. Then: “So… Zimmermann, huh?”

Kent sighed. “Yeah… I don’t even really know why I feel shit over it, dude. He talked to me about doing this months ago. I knew it was going to happen eventually. I told him I was okay with it,” he explained.

“The idea of it is a lot different than the reality of it, though,” Swoops replied.

Kent bit back a chirp; now was not a time to get defensive— there was absolutely no reason nor excuse to get defensive with Swoops. “Yeah…” he finally agreed. The other’s comment wasn’t _wrong_ , he realized. Now that it had happened, suddenly all the consequences he had thought of were a hard possibility and not just fanciful paranoia. “I’m scared,” Kent admitted, “Of what people might try to say about me now. If I might get outed or something.”

“You know I’ll have your back— the whole team will,” Swoops started. “No one who actually knows would do that to you, Parse.”

Kent had come out privately to the majority of the team by now. The only people who didn’t know were the new guys, mostly, and Kent knew he might even wind up telling some of them by the end of the season— but Kent wasn’t about to introduce himself to every new guy who came through by saying _‘hey, yeah, I’m the infamous Kent ‘Victory’ Parson, your Captain, welcome to the Las Vegas Aces, and by the way I really fucking like dick so hopefully that’s not a problem for you, or your time here is about to be really awkward.’_

There were enough most-likely-career Aces on the team, though, including himself; enough guys he trusted not to betray him, even if they did wind up being traded. There were some other LGBT+ players in the league that Kent had come across and subsequently come out to, knowing they would all have each other’s back; it was like having a little private club of secrets that disregarded any team boundaries or rivalries because some things were infinitely more important.

“I know,” Kent said. “It’s just… a lot.” He sighed.

“Yeah,” Jeff agreed, “I bet it is. But we’ll all help you get through it, okay?”

“Okay.” Kent gave a small smile, even though Jeff couldn’t see it, just because he was so damn lucky to have him— to have his team, and his non-Aces friends, too— in his life.

“Hey, Parse?” Jeff sounded suddenly hesitant, and Kent’s smile dissolved into a frown.

“Yeah?”

Jeff paused a moment, and Kent steeled himself for whatever kind of big question Swoops was about to ask. “You ever think about coming out? Like… if you’re really that scared about being outed… You wouldn’t be alone anymore, right? You wouldn’t be the first now.”

Kent sucked in a breath, then exhaled, before answering Swoops’ question. It certainly hit the nail on the head. He had yet to tell Swoops that he _had_ actually been thinking about it the past few months, because it felt far too overwhelming.

“I mean…” Kent wasn’t sure why he was freezing up. It was a simple question from his best friend. It wasn’t a commitment. “I’ve thought about it, yeah,” he admitted, “Of course.”

“Think you might do it?” Jeff questioned, nonchalant, as if he was asking Kent— well, anything else in the world, really, would have been more casual than _this_.

“Probably not,” Kent said. It came out with more certainty than Kent had realized he felt. Now that he’d said it, though, he realized it was true. He may have been sick of hiding in the closet, but at least that was the familiar— the known. Coming out was a completely new game that Kent didn’t know how to play— no one did. Jack would learn. Kent would watch, he supposed; he would check up on Jack, surely, to make sure his friend was holding up okay, because no matter how much time had passed, nor how much Kent had healed, nor how much better Jack was… there would always be that small part in him that vividly pictured them, seventeen, Jack on the bathroom floor with an empty pill bottle laying by his hand and leftover pills spilled around him. Kent would always _worry_.

It didn’t mean he was brave enough to do what Jack had done. Kent was pretty sure if either of them was actually the brave one, it had always been Jack. Jack had bounced back after rehab and Kent realized now that the other man had overcome so much more than Kent could really comprehend.

“Okay. I get it, man. I do,” Jeff replied. Swoops had confessed to Kent before that he was pansexual— not long after Kent had confessed to him that he was gay. It had been such a relief to Kent, knowing he wasn’t alone on his own team. He also knew, though, that Swoops was pretty content being in the closet about his sexuality; he had been dating the same girl for five years and Kent couldn’t see them breaking it off any time soon. If anything, surely they would tie the knot before much longer. “Just don’t forget if you change your mind, I’ve got you, okay? Anything you need— ever.”

“I know, Jeff. Thanks.”

Sounding content, Jeff said: “Good. Call if you need anything else. Em wants to get grocery shopping out of the way already and is totally staring me down so I’m gonna head off. But just… call.”

“I will,” Kent said with a laugh. “Tell Em I said ‘hi’. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow. Enjoy the day off.”

“Yeah, see ya, bro.” And then Swoops ended the call.

Kent sighed, and figured he might as well get his own day started. Maybe Scupp would go get breakfast with him at his favorite diner. It wasn’t exactly Aces-nutritionist approved, but Kent knew he’d be at the gym later that afternoon, and would be working his ass off tomorrow with a game against the Capitals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so as of right now, I have 10-11 chapters planned and vaguely outlined for this thing! I'm not promising any sort of updating schedule because I have a full-time college course-load and I just started a part-time job, eeeek. However, I will say that I've got chapter 2 started already and I'm going to try to keep myself afloat with this. You can always feel free to kick me in the butt a bit if it looks like I abandoned this guy.
> 
> Per usual, you can reach me on tumblr [@kentvparsin](http://kentvparsin.tumblr.com)!! I love to talk about anything and everything. I also take requests for headcanons and ficlets! You can also find ways to help support me over there if you like my work. (:


	2. willing to take my chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [@justlikelivinginparadise](http://justlikelivinginparadise.tumblr.com) for being a wonderful beta who mops up my silly mistakes!!
> 
> FYI: Warning for homophobic behavior and words!!! There’s a scene where a player on another team says some nasty stuff to Kent. It's already been in the tags, but I wanted to say it actually happens in this chapter, and most likely will in the next few as well... Keep an eye on the tags if you’re worried about anything that this fic could contain because they’ll be kept updated.

A week had gone by since Jack’s announcement.

Kent had talked to Jack a few days afterward, and he had apologized that he hadn’t given Kent more forewarning when Kent admitted it had blind-sided him. He’d been feeling mostly better at that point, though; he had realized that he may have (definitely) overreacted. It had been nice to hear Jack apologize anyway— to hear the reminder that they _did that_ now, freely, when it was needed.

Now, Tater was calling him, and Kent wondered if it was inevitable that they would talk about Jack’s coming out, too. Nonetheless, it was the first time in a week he had heard from the Russian— and it was an immense relief, like a breath of fresh air, to see his name and that stupid Snapchat screenshot Kent had set as his contact photo lighting up his phone.

Kent stared at the photo for a moment: Tater was winking exaggeratedly, tongue out, with that inexplicably cute dog filter on, which really fit Alexei all too well.

“Hey, Tates,” he greeted, after finally hitting the ‘accept’ button.

“Parsnip! Привет,” Tater said— and Kent had, thankfully, picked up enough Russian at this point in his hockey career to know that the word meant ‘hi’. “Am sorry I’m not calling sooner,” Tater continued. “Has been very busy with Falcs since Jack coming out. George setting up many PR…” Alexei paused, and Kent got the sense he was searching for a word. Then, lamely: “Things.”

Kent laughed quietly. “It’s cool,” he replied, “I get it. It’s crazy over there, huh?”

“Да, very,” Tater agreed. “Trying to prepare for worst, George is saying.”

Kent cringed a little. _The worst_. He had been trying to avoid thinking about the consequences, as much as he could, for the past week. So far, Kent hadn’t heard anyone talking about him and no one had approached him about Jack, thank god, but he was certain it was only a matter of time. Swoops had suggested a few days ago that he should probably nip it in the bud and talk to the Aces PR team to let them know what could happen. He hadn’t made the moves to come out to them yet— telling guys on the team was more of a friend thing, an ‘I trust you’ thing— but Kent was realizing now that he probably should have. Now he would have to tell them not only that he was gay, but that he really _had_ had a _thing_ with Jack Zimmermann years ago and they might want to prepare for a media shitshow. At least the Falcs were being proactive. “That’s— That’s good,” Kent forced out. “And… Jack’s really doing good?” He wasn’t trying to go behind Jack’s back, but sometimes it was extra reassurance for Kent’s anxiety to have Tater confirm Jack’s wellbeing.

“He is hanging in. Been a little trouble with media assholes last game, but he is being fine— handling good.” Kent was about to say that was good, and to ask Alexei to clarify what had happened with the media— but Tater continued: “You doing okay, Kent?”

The question really shouldn’t have caught him off-guard; after Swoops, Tater was probably his closest friend, and his heart was so big. He never failed to check up on Kent, nor to try and help him when he was clearly suffering.

“I’m… okay,” Kent started. “Really,” he confirmed, when he heard Tater suck in a breath, surely about to protest. “I mean— a little anxious, yeah, but I’m fine,” he continued. “I think I’m going to talk to my PR team about what’s happening— er, what could happen.” Voicing Swoops’ idea out loud to Tater made it sound like the only correct thing for him to do; it made it sound so sensible, he wasn’t sure why he had doubted it before.

“You coming out?” Tater asked.

“No,” Kent was quick to reply, because that hadn’t changed in the last week. “Not yet, at least,” he amended. “Eventually… It’d be nice, maybe. But not right now.”

Tater had found out he was gay a few years ago. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but Jack had told him something about his and Kent’s history, apparently. So when Kent had decided to officially come out to Alexei about two years ago, the Russian had timidly admitted he’d already had an idea of Kent’s sexuality. Alexei had then confessed to Kent that he was bisexual, and had promised Kent that the secrets were going with him to the grave, and he didn’t have to worry. It hadn’t taken much to convince Kent, anyway, he already trusted Alexei: it was nearly impossible not to. His eyes were warm and inviting in the same way that Swoops’ were, but… even moreso. Everything about him, to Kent, screamed safety.

“I’m understand,” Tater replied. “Not sure if I’m coming out, either… Am thinking… maybe. But Russia…”

“It wouldn’t be safe if you did,” Kent finished, presuming. He knew enough about current events outside of the realm of hockey to know what it was like there— hell, he knew enough Russian men in the NHL to hear their first-hand reactions about anything new that happened in that country.

“Да,” Tater agreed, then sighed. The line grew quiet a moment, but Kent didn’t feel it was awkward, or that he needed to interrupt it. After a moment, Alexei spoke again, and his tone was lighter when he asked: “How is Miss Kit?”

Kent smiled on his end of the line. “She’s good; y’know, same old fat ball of fluff.” He let himself laugh quietly. “Oh— I have a few pictures to send you that I didn’t post on her Instagram. I, um… I should’ve sent them when I took them, but…” _I didn’t want to bother you_ , his brain supplied. “I figured you were busy.”

“Is okay, Kent,” Tater said gently— because he was always so fucking gentle. “Send when we are done talking, please?” He sounded like he was smiling, and the mental image made Kent smile, too. “I’m missing Kit, been so long since I’m seeing her—” Tater laughed, before tacking on: “And missing you, too.”

Kent laughed, and only wondered fleetingly how talking to Alexei was always the best medicine to a troubled heart and head. He was like a miracle worker. “It’s cool, I know you only like me for my cat,” he replied. “I only like me for my cat, too.”

“Also liking you for your stats and fame, don’t forget,” Alexei supplied.

Kent could imagine the mischievous sparkle in Tater’s eyes as he chirped him. He laughed again. “You’re such a gold digger— only friends with me because I’m rich and famous. I’m hurt, Alexei.”

“Can’t all be the famous Kent Parson, though.”

“No, I guess not.” Kent rolled his eyes. The NHL had practically made him the face of the league a few years ago— or had put him there next to Crosby, at least— and it was still surreal to think about. It was more than he could have asked to come from his lifelong dream, when just getting to the NHL at all had seemed questionable at so many turns in his life. “Can’t all be Alexei Mashkov either, though,” he shot back.

“Not famous like you,” Tater replied, and Kent could imagine him rolling his eyes now.

“Eh, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Kent laughed again. “All these fake friends who just like me for my money.”

“Would rather just keep mooching off you than be famous myself,” Tater teased.

“Like you have ever mooched off of me,” Kent said, and now Alexei laughed as well.

“Нет, not yet.”

“Oh? Should I prepare myself?”

“Да, you should.”

Kent huffed out an exasperated breath, as if he actually could be annoyed with Alexei. He didn’t think he had really ever been annoyed with him since he had gotten to actually know him. “Well, thanks for the warning,” Kent teased.

“You are welcome, Kent Parson,” Alexei replied with another rumble of laughter. Then, he changed the subject again: “How is everything else?” he questioned.

Kent wasn’t sure how to answer, and shrugged before remembering that Alexei couldn’t see. Damn, it’d been way too long since they had even talked over a videochat, let alone seen each other face to face. Kent made a mental note to see what their schedules were like in the coming weeks, and see if there was any way that Kent could go off to Providence, or do a small amount of convincing to get Alexei to Vegas; he’d bribe him with Kit if he had to. “Fine, I guess. Same. Everything else is the same,” he finally got out.

They chatted idly for a while after that, because there were plenty of little things to catch each other up on, when at the best of times they generally kept in touch daily. Kent told him about his latest adventure to the pet store he got Kit’s pet supplies from, where one of the associates flirted with him to an embarrassing degree; he updated Alexei on her latest pick-up lines— she somehow always seemed to find a new hockey-related line to throw in there.

When they finally had to part ways, because Kit was demanding her dinner, Kent tried not to feel massively disappointed, even as Alexei promised they would talk again soon.

 

**_/ x \\_**

 

 _Soon_ turned out to be sporadic texting over the next week and a half.

Then, Alexei texted him one morning, around 9 A.M., probably knowing he’d already be awake and getting ready to go to practice. Which wasn’t surprising; he could always expect Alexei to consider that kind of thing. The Aces had the later on-ice practice time slot as the away team. They were currently in Arizona before they’d fly back to Vegas for a home game with the Aeros. Kent finished getting dressed, then grabbed his phone where it was still on the cord charging.

   **Alexei**  
     _Want to talk with you about something. We can FaceTime after your game tonight?_  
       _(9:13 A.M.)_

Which… well… Kent could never say ‘no’ to Alexei. Not with the ridiculous, hopelessly large crush he had on the equally-as-large Russian. It was like… an Alexei-sized crush. So, even though Kent knew that he would be exhausted as fuck after playing the goddamn Coyotes, and even though it would be late as fuck for Alexei over in Providence to stay up waiting for Kent to get back to the hotel and settle into the bed and call Alexei… Kent texted him back to say that they could FaceTime, sure.

His mind took the rest of the day to think up at least a dozen best- and worst-case scenarios for what Alexei would want to talk to him about.

He thought about it enough that he knew he was distracted at practice when he got to the Gila River Arena. Halfway through, Swoops chirped him about it, a deeper look behind his eyes to ask _‘what the fuck is up with you, man?’_ , to which Kent only took the well-deserved bitching and tried to shake off his unease. He couldn’t afford to be distracted tonight during the game. The Aces were far higher in the standings right now, but the Coyotes always put up a fight— literally. His team may have had a reputation for dirty plays (admittedly not totally false), but the Coyotes really weren’t much better. Kent knew he was going to have to play hard tonight to pull out a win, and if the Aces wanted to be a shoo-in for the playoffs they had to keep up their wins even if it was only early December and there was still a lot of time left in the season. Kent always liked to get ahead in the standings early, and he had a team behind him that was capable of doing that more years than not.

Whatever Alexei needed to talk to him about… It couldn’t be that bad, right? It was just Kent’s paranoia eating at him, because Alexei didn’t really know how much power he had over Kent’s heart, and it was not as if they were a _thing_ to break apart.

So while still vaguely anxious by the time the game rolled around, Kent had managed to shake off the majority of his bad feelings. Hitting the ice always kept his mind clear of anything besides hockey, anyway. It was how he had made it through his first year on the Aces, after Jack’s overdose. When his skates touched the ice, anxiety was replaced with adrenaline. His only thoughts were strategies that would lead his team to a win.

As expected, the Coyotes came to play, and Kent definitely didn’t have Alexei on his mind once the game started. He spent some time in the sin bin, but so did plenty of the Yotes; four of them were comically squished in at one point during the second. Rafter was in net for the Aces, and Kent yelled at his d-men early into the second to fucking help their goalie as the Coyotes got two in forty-five seconds apart, taking the lead over Swoops’ goal from halfway through the first. Then, Dietz got a goal off of Kent’s assist, tying the game with fifteen seconds left in the second. The third period was expectedly intense; more fights, and each team making a number of shots on goal. Dietz got his second goal of the night with five minutes left on the clock. With a minute left, Jiskra scored an empty-netter. The Coyotes didn’t manage to overtake them before the horn, and then Kent was surrounded by his teammates in the victory celly, before lining up to give Rafs his well-deserved pats.

Kent managed to excuse himself from celebratory drinks in order to get back to his room, because _Alexei_ needed him (not that he told anyone that). Nonetheless, by the time he got back to the room he’d been assigned, after having to do press and get showered and changed, it was about 11:30, meaning it would be 1:30 A.M. for Alexei. Kent shot him a text to let him know he was in his room now, if Alexei was still awake. Hardly a minute later, he was getting the FaceTime call from Alexei. Kent accepted, and a few seconds later, he was trying not to show how much seeing Alexei’s face for the first time in weeks left him breathless.

“Hey,” Kent greeted, smiling easily in response to Alexei’s warm grin.

“Hello,” Alexei replied. “Was good game tonight. Your boys play very well. First time Dietz is getting two goals, да?”

Kent nodded his head in answer to Alexei’s question, and his smile turned into something more prideful at the compliment. He loved his boys, and he loved receiving compliments about them, hearing he was a good captain by proof of his team’s abilities. “Thanks,” he said. He paused a moment, then decided he just wanted to jump into whatever Alexei wanted to tell him. “So, uh, what did you want to talk about?” he prompted.

He never would have expected what happened next.

Really, not in a million years.

Alexei shifted awkwardly, and Kent felt his stomach fill with nervous butterflies at the uncertain look on the Russian’s face. He looked for a few torturous moments like he was trying to gather himself. Then, finally: “I have… proposition for you. But is big question. You say ‘no’ if you are not being one hundred percent sure, okay?”

Kent frowned, for a moment struggling to find any words. “Uh,” he eventually managed to get out, “Yeah. Okay. Shoot, big guy.”

Alexei took a deep breath, then jumped into it. “I have been thinking we could come out, together, say you are my boyfriend. We are already being good friends, so would not be unbelievable? And would mean no one alone out of closet.”

“Seriously?” Kent asked, dumbfounded.

“You say you are thinking about coming out. I know you are saying probably not doing it, last time we are talking, but…” Alexei paused, and cleared his throat. “Jack… having lots of trouble being out alone. Many guys on ice— many reporters, also— they not being good people.” Kent tensed, because that was not what Alexei had said last time— one reporter giving Jack some trouble, yeah— but were more people really giving him a problem now? Had that changed so much since Kent had last gotten an update almost two weeks ago? But before Kent could ask for clarification, Alexei continued his explanation: “I’m thinking— will help him if he is not being alone. Would be taking some attention off him, да?” Alexei shifted uncomfortably again, but looked like he was done speaking.

“But you…” Alexei had such a big reason not to come out that Kent didn’t have. “What about Russia, Tater? You… You said you probably wouldn’t be allowed back.”

Alexei shrugged. “I’m… It is okay. Falcs— and you— you are all being my family now. Here is being my home. Will… be… be able to get family here, maybe. If they still accepting me. You are saying you are tired of hiding. I am being tired of hiding, too. Come to America to play hockey, да, but also to be self more, because I am allowed to be. I’m not liking to see Jack alone; he is hurting, I think, even if he is not admitting.”

“I thought Jack said it was okay,” Kent blurted out. Even though it was exactly like the Jack that Kent had always known, to put on a mask and hide when he was hurting. The thought made Kent’s heart twinge painfully. “Are things getting worse?” He narrowed his eyes, focusing more closely on Alexei’s face. “Tell me the truth.”

The Russian sighed. “Is… little worse, I think. Shock wearing off, maybe, people wanting to push buttons, or maybe keep story going, see what else they, uh…” Alexei hesitated for a moment. “What else they are being able to find out.”

Kent frowned, because it felt like he was going to combust, suddenly. Alexei’s words were _too much_.

“Fuck,” Kent whispered, but it didn’t seem like Alexei heard. Then, in typical Kent Parson fashion, he realized he had made his decision already. “Okay,” he agreed. _Fuck my life_ , he thought, as soon as the word was out. How could he pretend to date Alexei Mashkov without losing his mind, when he’d been wanting to _actually_ date him for at least a year? But— what would happen if he didn’t, now? If reporters were sniffing for more dirt on Jack… It legitimately was only a matter of time before they caught onto Kent’s scent, anyway.

If he came out with Alexei… He wouldn’t be alone.

He could tell the world who he really was, and he wouldn’t have to do it alone, and he wouldn’t have to do it on anyone else’s terms besides his own.

“Really?” Alexei’s eyes were bright now, a smile on his face. He was so warm, so happy and inviting. Kent couldn’t say no. He just couldn’t.

“Y-Yeah… I— We should help Jack.”

Alexei’s grin widened at Kent’s words, and Kent felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. This was going to be _hard_. “I’m so glad to hear that,” Alexei responded. “You are being a very good man, Kent Parson. Best friend.”

Kent ran a hand through his hair, smiling half-heartedly. “Hah… Thanks, man,” he said. He really wasn’t so sure he agreed, but if Alexei wanted to believe it, Kent didn’t have the strength to really argue over it right now. “I, uh… should let you sleep— it’s late. You probably have practice in the morning.”

Alexei nodded his head, and as if Kent had reminded him he was tired, he yawned. “Right, yes.” A pause for a second. “I’m text you tomorrow, we will be needing to talk about this more.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kent said. It wouldn’t do them much good to come out as a couple if they started telling different stories. It wouldn’t take even an amateur reporter— fuck, just a _fan_ on the internet with one of those tumblr blogs— to spot inconsistencies. Neither of them, nor their teams, needed the shitshow that would result if they were caught lying about something like dating another NHL player. He knew Alexei was right about another point, too: once they had their story straight (well…), they would be able to pull it off easily. They already knew each other so well, already spent so much down-time together, already had few boundaries with each other. Surely once the public realized they weren’t straight, they’d think they were silly for not putting two-and-two together when it came to Kent Parson and Alexei Mashkov before. “Can… Can we talk about it the day after?” Kent suggested. “Just… with getting back to Vegas and the Aeros’ game tomorrow…”

“Of course, I’m understand, is busy day for you. Get some rest now. Спокойной ночи, Kent,” Alexei said softly, waving at the camera.

“Yeah, good night, Tates. Talk to you soon,” Kent replied, then ended the Skype call.

After locking his phone and tossing it down the bed, Kent let out a heavy sigh. Well, he couldn’t say his life had ever been boring, certainly. He forced himself out of the bed, throwing back some melatonin pills after digging them out from his suitcase. He was exhausted bodily, but his mind was running a mile a minute, and he definitely needed some sleep before waking up for the team’s flight back to Vegas tomorrow morning.

He grabbed his phone again, shot a quick text to Jeff:

     _wake me up tomorrow? thanks_  
       _(12:23 A.M.)_

With that, he tossed and turned for a time before finally falling asleep.

 

**_/ x \\_**

 

Pounding on his door woke Kent from his slumber what felt like five minutes later— but the sun was shining in through the small break in the curtains, so he knew it must be morning. Which, Jeff, right. He groaned quietly, forcing himself up before they got a noise complaint.

He stumbled sleepily to the door, then yanked it open.

Sure enough: Jeff, with his hand poised to knock again. “Good, you’re alive,” he greeted, smiling— smirking, really.

“Barely,” Kent said back, voice quiet and cracked with its first use of the day.

Jeff laughed, then pushed his way inside, and Kent closed the door behind him. Then, he turned to look at Kent, hands on hips in that _‘what’s going on’_ way that he had.

“You wouldn’t even _believe_ my night,” Kent admitted, running a hand through sleep-mussed hair.

“How about we grab some breakfast and you can spill?” Jeff offered.

Kent nodded an agreement, going to his suitcase and digging out the last fresh pair of clothes he’d packed for their short roadie. He changed silently while Jeff perched on the edge of the unmade hotel bed, aimlessly talking about something Kent wasn’t really paying attention to because he knew he didn’t have to be. After he had brushed his teeth and made his hair tamed enough to look decent under his snapback, the two men walked out of the room and out of the hotel into the Arizona December morning. It was brisk enough for the Aces Hockey hoodies they had pulled on, still early enough that the sun hadn’t done much to warm up from the nighttime drop. They had time yet to sit down and eat without rushing back to the hotel for check-out, so having spent the better part of a decade coming to the area a couple times a year, they wordlessly headed in the direction of a sit-down cafe nearby that someone had recommended to them years ago. Kent had found out early into his NHL career that knowing at least one good place to eat— whether because they didn’t care if you were a hockey player or because the food was worth it— in every hockey city was a godsend.

The cafe was quiet, having opened shortly before Kent and Jeff arrived, so it didn’t take them long to get seated at a small booth somewhere they wouldn’t be spotted too easily. The cafe was cramped in that homey, comfortable way; mix-match furniture and local knick-knacks and friendly faces. The manager recognized them from their visits over the years and greeted them with a genuine smile on her face.

They ordered quickly: the same things they always seemed to, just about anywhere that they went. Kent liked consistency where he could get it, too much of the rest of his life centered around constant movement and changing scenery.

“So…” Swoops prompted, after taking a sip of coffee that, as always, he drank black.

Meanwhile, Kent was loading his up with a probably-disgusting amount of cream, and two packets of sugar. He stalled a moment, stirring his coffee until it was a pleasing shade of tan. Jeff kicked him lightly under the table, and Kent sighed. “I may have fucked up,” he admitted.

“You say that a lot.”

Kent gave the other man a glower. “Because I fuck up a lot.”

“Mostly you just _think_ you fucked up a lot, and exaggerate.” Jeff took another sip of coffee. “What happened this time?”

“I, uh… agreed to… pretend to date Alexei.” Kent said, voice low enough so that only the two of them would hear.

Kent observed Swoops’ face, saw the expected surprise. “Like, Mashkov? Alexei Mashkov? ‘I have a giant, fucking hopeless crush on you’ Alexei Mashkov? That Alexei?”

He felt his cheeks heat up with a blush, shooting another glare at Jeff. “Yes, asshole, _that_ Alexei.” Why had he ever told Swoops that he had a crush on Alexei? Right— because he fucked up a lot. Jeff laughed, and Kent was wholly unappreciative of _that_. “Shut the fuck up, Swoops,” he muttered, maybe kicking a little _too hard_ under the table at his shin.

“Fuck, bro.” Jeff was still grinning, even though he’d stopped laughing. “I just… are you serious?” Kent nodded, frowning deeper. Jeff raised his eyebrows. “How the fuck did that happen?”

“He said… Fuck—” Kent ran a hand down his face, took a moment to gather himself by taking a gulp of coffee. “He said that Jack’s been… having more issues lately.” He was watching Swoops’ face, saw a flicker of concern in his hazel eyes. “Players are being bigger dicks on the ice, and the media is digging in more, trying not to let the story die, I guess… So Alexei thought— if we shifted the attention away from— made it more than just, y’know, Jack… It might be easier…”

“And you agreed.” Kent didn’t miss the flatness of Jeff’s tone, displeased. “Because— why? For Jack, or Alexei?”

“Fuck, man, I… Not for Jack,” he argued. “Well, okay, maybe, but not like _that_. For Jack because he’s my friend, right?”

“I thought you didn’t want to come out, though.”

“I didn’t, really… but I was thinking, and— you’re right, y’know, I need to tell PR about me, and come out to them. And when Alexei said that the media might be digging more… I’m surprised they aren’t up my ass already, trying to rehash those old fucking juniors stories about Zimms-and-Parse. It’s probably… bound to happen any day now. If I come out with Alexei, I don’t have to do it alone…”

Jeff frowned at him. “So you’re just going to _pretend_ to date this guy you’ve liked for, how long? To come out when you might not even want to?”

Kent nodded. “Yeah… I am.”

“Kent…”

“I told you: I fucked up,” Kent insisted again.

“I’ll give you that this time,” Swoops agreed. “But, okay… if that’s what you want to do… I mean— I ain’t gonna stop you, Parse. I think… it’s kind of stupid. But I’ve got your back.” He nudged Kent’s legs with his own under the table again, and shot him that small, genuine, encouraging smile he gave Kent probably far too often. “You definitely need to tell PR, like, _before_ you do this, though.”

Kent rolled his eyes. “No shit.” He sipped his coffee. “I’ll tell them tomorrow, after morning skate.”

“Good idea. I’ll hold you to that, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I cannot _believe_ you—” Swoops cut himself off as the waitress came over, loaded with plates of breakfast food that had to be strategically placed on the small table between them to fit it all. They both needed to eat a lot before tonight. They also both had a habit of picking off each other’s plates when they thought the other wasn’t looking, even though at this point, they both knew they were both doing it. So Kent didn’t even care, and Jeff didn’t even protest, as he nabbed a piece of bacon from a side plate on his Alternate’s side of the table. After the waitress had left again, Swoops continued: “Your life is ridiculous.”

“I am _well_ aware, actually,” Kent replied before stuffing a forkful of omelet into his mouth.

They passed the rest of the meal exchanging mostly idle chatter. The matter of his arrangement with Alexei came back up a few times, especially after Alexei texted him when the Falconers were finished with their morning practice to wish him a safe flight home and good luck against the Aeros.

“You two are already disgustingly sweet, you know that?” Jeff chirped.

“Fuck you. Don’t make this worse,” Kent groaned in response.

Jeff laughed. “You dug yourself into this shit-hole, Parse, sorry. I will chirp your ass as much as I want.”

“I regret telling you anything. Ever.”

Jeff shrugged as if the statement didn’t concern him in the least. “And yet…”

The rest of the conversation broke into a hailstorm of chirping as they finished their meal, quickening their pace as the time to get back to the hotel ticked closer.

Once they had cleaned their plates and finished the last dregs of coffee in their mugs, they paid— leaving a hefty tip as always— and hurried back to the hotel to gather their things and join the rest of the team. By the time they were meeting again in the lobby, suitcases in tow now, the rest of the team had gathered. Kent got the usual chirps about being _fashionably late_ and he shrugged them off with his usual smug smirk. And then they were being ushered into the coach bus that would take them to the airport.

Kent spent the flight sat next to Calvin, who spent the first part of the short flight talking excitedly to Kent about his two goals the night before, until he quieted down and put his earbuds in for the rest of the trip. Kent decided to spend the remainder of the flight likewise, turning his own music on and slipping in his earbuds and allowing himself to drift off halfway.

They landed a short time later, gathered their luggage again, and were ushered to the arena for some practice time and strategy meetings before they were let go to relax before the game. Kent was practically asleep by the time he got back to his apartment, feeling the absence of Kit— who was at the cat-sitter’s house until tomorrow, because there was no way he was going to go there to pick her up now when he had a mostly-off-day tomorrow.

He was quick to fall asleep, and disappointed when his alarm went off, but forced himself out of bed to finish the rest of his pregame ritual before heading to the arena once more for warmups and the start of the game. Kent was feeling far less panicky tonight, far more confident. The Aeros were a generally-clean team and rocky in the standings, somewhere halfway in the league. It should be easy enough to get the win in regulation time and go home to rest more.

Sure enough, the Aces had a 6-4 lead over the Aeros with twelve minutes left in the third. It wasn’t the lead Kent had expected, but the Aces defense was playing hard and Rafs was making some incredible saves, so his confidence was lingering. There was still a lot of hockey left to play, but if they could get a couple more past the Aeros’ goalie— White, or something, Kent thought— and his d-men and Rafter could keep it up, they had this game.

Nonetheless, tension was running high as the clock ticked down to the halfway mark of the third. The Aeros were clearly determined not to let this go, and Kent was sure it was only a matter of time before someone dropped gloves. There’d been a few short scuffles earlier in the game, but nothing serious, and few penalties called on either team.

So Kent shouldn’t have been too surprised when Coach called him for another shift on the ice, and a moment later, with the puck just-connecting with his stick, he was checked into the boards roughly, and heard a gruff voice in his ear: “Give me that, fag.”

Kent managed to stay on his feet after a stumbling moment, and paused to stare at the Aeros player who now had the puck— _Sanders, 58_ — before skating after him speedily. He checked Sanders back into the boards… Not as much of an impact, the guy definitely had size on him, but enough to distract him so he lost the puck.

Sanders stayed upright, as well, and turned to face Kent, tense and poised and _okay, yeah, he shouldn’t do this, but he wanted to_.

“Should pick your battles better, twink,” Sanders spat down at him. He had to have at least four inches on Kent. Kent was getting too furious to care, though.

“I'm stellar at picking my fucking battles, Sanders,” Kent snapped back. “Are we doing this? Or you gonna back out before I kick your ass?”

“Actually— quick question, first: what was it like sucking Zimmermann’s dick? Is that how you got on the Aces, gave the GM a good blowie, got drafted first? Bet it's how you got the captaincy, too, dirty piece of shit cap—”

“Have a problem, man?” Jiskra interrupted, gliding over, 6’7” in his skates.

Sanders glanced over at the huge Czech, then glared at Kent again. “You sucking his dick, too, Parson? Gotta get your henchman to protect ya?”

“Fuck off, Sanders,” Kent growled, skating in closer to the Aeros forward.

Kent knew others had come toward them, but he hadn't heard the refs blow the whistle yet, and Kent was sure they'd let him and Sanders go at it if they wanted to, and release some of the tension hanging over the game.

He wanted to. He wanted to so bad. He hadn't dropped gloves in so long.

So why the fuck not?

Kent threw his gloves at the ice, and Sanders’ followed a split second later.

Kent closed the distance and grabbed the front of Sanders’ jersey as he grabbed Kent’s. It took a moment, circling each other, before either landed a hit; the impact hit Kent on the side of the jaw, and he cursed, swinging out at Sanders and connecting with his jaw, too.

They tussled for a few moments, Kent’s helmet falling off at some point, until Kent lost his balance at a punch from Sanders that would surely leave him with a black eye by tomorrow. He took both of them to the ground, at which point the whistle blew and Kent wasn't even sure who was pulling him away from Sanders, who he really kind of wanted to keep going at, but a half minute later they were being led away to their separate boxes.

Spitefully, Kent was glad when the horn finally sounded the end of the game and the Aces had managed to keep their lead, finishing at 7-6. He tried to find Sanders on the Aeros’ bench to shoot him a glare, but he wasn't looking in Kent’s direction. Kent allowed himself to be swept up in the celebration of winning, Jiskra’s arms wrapping around him in a tight hug for a moment, then tapping the top of his helmet after he set Kent back down.

“You do good, Cap. Proud,” Jiskra commented in his gruff, accented voice, smiling down at Kent.

“Thanks, Jay. You too,” Kent replied.

It was even more relieving than usual to know that his teammates had his back. He knew not to be surprised that Evžen had come to his aid at Sanders’ taunts, but he was touched nonetheless. The Aces really wouldn't care when he came out officially. He wasn't sure what they would think when he announced he was dating Alexei, when he'd insisted he was single for so long— but then again, he had always turned down offers for dates, too, so maybe it'd be easy to get out of. He knew no one on the Aces had a problem with Alexei off the ice, so _that_ shouldn't be a problem.

Shit, he couldn't worry about this right now.

Calvin had slung an arm around his shoulder and was hugging him close. “Good fight, Parse. You okay?” he asked.

Kent nodded his head. “Yeah, no, all good.” He grinned, and then started ushering the team down the tunnel and into their locker room. “Great game tonight, boys!” he congratulated after they had all walked in. “Really great plays tonight from everyone. I know it was a rough game, but we played hard and it paid off.”

There were cheers, shouts of ‘thanks’, shouts of ‘you too!’ and Kent grinned as he sat down at his stall and started untying his skates. The media was sure to come for him any second, he had no doubts. He'd be hit with a barrage of questions about his fight that he'd have to brush off with his best smile and bullshittiest answers.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, half undressed, PR was sending the journalists his way and Kent pasted on his well-practiced media smirk. At least the first questioner had the decency to pretend they cared about the _game_ — asking about his assist on Waters’ goal in the second period. The next reporter, however, decided _fuck it_ and opened the floodgates on the questions about Kent’s fight. Kent shot the PR rep standing at the edge of the reporter circle a look, then jumped into his answers with the stereotypical committedly-uncommitted hockey player answers, until the rep announced that media time was over.

Kent breathed out a sigh of relief when the locker room was empty of journalists, and quickly shucked off the rest of his clothes to hit the showers.

The shower he took was long and scalding but did wonders to relax his muscles and anxieties. By the time he was walking back to his stall with a towel around his waist, half the team had gone on their way— home, or out, he didn’t know and didn’t care. He let the towel drop and pulled on boxers before holding the power button on his phone to turn it back on. He always powered it down a half hour before the game, giving himself some time away from any stresses that could come from texts, calls, or social media, and instead to get his head in the game. When his phone had booted up, it vibrated madly, and Kent held back the groan that wanted to leave his mouth. No doubt half of the texts were from family, worryingly wondering if he was okay. He pulled on the rest of his clothes— a loose Aces Hockey tee, soft and worn sweatpants; he was determined to go home and unwind, therefore not caring what he looked like— before finally checking.

And, yep: New Message from Mom, New Message from Mom, New Message from Dad, New Message from Mom ( _Jesus, Mom_ , he thought, _it wasn’t even that bad_ ), New Message from Bridget, New Message from… _Alexei_. Kent made the gestures to unlock his phone on Alexei’s text.

   **Alexei**  
     _Saw game. You okay? Fight looked bad. I’m being here if you’re needing anything._  
       _(9:30 P.M.)_

He must have sent it when the fight happened, Kent thought, seeing that it was almost 11 now.

     _gonna be hurtin tomorrow but not bad. sanders is a prick tho_  
     _i’m heading home now, i need sleep. i’ll talk to u in the a.m. ok?_  
       _(10:53 P.M.)_

Kent had barely finished putting away his things when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

   **Alexei**  
     _Glad you’re okay. Tell me more tomorrow, please. Drive safe, sleep well. Good night Kenny ))))_  
       _(11:03 P.M.)_

Kent smiled at his phone, but elected not to answer as he said bye to the guys still lingering in the locker room and then headed toward his car parked in the staff area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is a Patater fic and not a Parswoops bromance fic; the Patater nonsense should truly take off soon haha. Also, I realized I never gave a real sense of a timeline for this? So if you’re like me and Need To Know: it’s the 2019-20 season. So, it’s a few years after our current Check, Please! timeline bc I wanted some wiggle room. The last chapter took place in November, this chapter takes place in early December. But monthly cues will probably be pretty obvious within the chapters as the story progresses.
> 
> The Most Important End Note: A huge thank you for everyone who’s been patiently waiting for the update! The past month has been insane. But!!! I will definitely try to post once a month. Hopefully the word count makes up for the waiting. This chapter got away from me and the 3rd one (which I’ve started somewhat) already is, as well.
> 
> Btw, in case you're like me, and struggle keeping track of the "Who's Who" in OCs, these are who we've got so far:  
> \- Justin "Rafs" Rafter (goalie)  
> \- Calvin "Didi/Dee" Dietz (liney with Scupp, rookie center)  
> \- Evžen "Jay" Jiskra (d-man) (I'm incapable of not having a Czech on my hockey team)  
> \- Jordan "Scuppy" Scupp (Kent's roommate, liney with Dietz, rookie left-winger)  
> \- Dylan "Watts" Waters (liney with Kent & Swoops, right-winger)
> 
> Once again-- my tumblr is [@kentvparsin](http://kentvparsin.tumblr.com) hmu!! Thanks for reading xx


End file.
